2016 - Takedown

by Stephen Leather

  ‘At least I kill for something I believe in,’ said McGovan, his eyes blazing with hatred. ‘You kill so that your masters can continue to persecute Muslim innocents all around the world for no other reason than they want their oil.’

  Harper smiled. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, mate. I don’t kill for politics or religion or because I’m ordered to. Someone’s paying me to kill you, pure and simple. You killed a Yank in the sandpit. A Yank with a very important father. He wants you dead and I’m the guy who’s going to make that happen. I don’t care what you’ve done or why you’re doing it. All I care is that the money goes into the bank. You’re a job, mate. That’s all you are. Now Allahu Akbar and fuck off.’ He pulled the trigger and McGovan’s face imploded. Blood began to pool around what was left of the man’s head as Harper pumped two more slugs into his chest.

  He turned and walked outside. Barry Whisper had driven back to the unit and was waiting beside the door on the bike, the engine running. Harper climbed onto the pillion and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses,’ he said. As the motorbike sped towards London, Harper took a phone from his hip-pack and sent Button a final text.

  CHAPTER 64

  The driver of the white van checked in his wing mirror, indicated and pulled out to overtake the truck ahead of him.

  ‘You don’t have to drive so fast, bruv, there’s no rush,’ said the passenger.

  ‘He’s crawling along,’ said the driver. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ repeated the passenger.

  The driver eased back on the accelerator. ‘Okay, whatever.’

  The passenger looked across at the driver. ‘What’s your name, bruv?’

  The driver shook his head. ‘He said we weren’t to know each other’s names. Security.’

  ‘Fuck that. I’ll be in Heaven in less than an hour, who gives a fuck? I’m a shahid, mate. A martyr. Don’t see why I shouldn’t know the name of the brother who’s driving me to Paradise.’

  The driver smiled. ‘Mohammed Tariq. But everyone calls me Mo.’

  ‘As-salamu alaykum, Mo. I’m Ali. You went to Syria?’

  ‘Fuck, yeah. It was something.’

  ‘You kill anyone?’

  Mo grinned. ‘Fuck, yeah. They had us shoot some prisoners the first day we were there. A test, like. I wasn’t sure I could do it but, fuck, yeah.’ He beat a rapid tattoo on the steering-wheel with his hands. ‘And you?’

  Ali shook his head. ‘I was on patrols, mainly. Then they started giving me extra tuition. About the Koran and stuff. Said there were better ways of serving Allah than firing an AK-47. That everyone has to play to their strengths.’

  ‘And you’re okay about what you’re doing?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ali. He held up the trigger. ‘This will achieve more than any bullet,’ he said.

  ‘The Houses of Parliament,’ said Mo. ‘You’ll be like Guy fucking Fawkes.’

  Ali smiled. ‘He failed. I won’t.’

  Mo was to drop Ali on the Embankment and Ali was to walk the rest of the way. No one expected him to get inside the building, but he’d be close and the area was always packed with tourists. His aim was to approach one of the security checkpoints and take out as many police officers as possible. There would be plenty of tourists using video cameras so what happened would be seen around the world.

  A black SUV moved in front of the van and Ali groaned. ‘What’s he playing at?’

  ‘Relax, bruv,’ said Mo. ‘Enjoy the drive. Enjoy the moment. What we’re doing today will resonate for eternity. Like the warriors who carried out Nine/Eleven.’

  The SUV slowed sharply and Mo had to stamp on the brake to avoid a collision.

  To Ali, it was as if everything was happening in slow motion. He saw armed police officers dressed in black pile out of the car in front of them. He heard shouts behind him. He heard Mo cursing. Ali smiled. He felt as if he had all the time in the world as he raised his right hand and started to squeeze the trigger.

  ‘Allahu Akbar,’ he whispered. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be taking out his designated target, but this way was fine. His fingers tightened on the trigger but then the windscreen shattered, something thudded into his face and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 65

  Patsy Ellis removed her headset. She looked up at the massive monitor that took up almost the whole of the far wall in the operations room they had commandeered at Thames House. There were only four people in it – Ellis, Charlotte Button and two young men in shirtsleeves, who had spent the whole two hours staring at the screens in front of them without making a sound other than to acknowledge Ellis’s instructions. The only interruption had been when a young man in a suit had delivered a round of teas and coffees and plastic-wrapped sandwiches, none of which had been opened.

  Four locations showed on the map: the places where the suicide-bombing teams had been intercepted by the armed-response vehicles. ‘All done,’ said Ellis. ‘No casualties. Not on our side, anyway.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Button. Her phone beeped to let her know she had received a message. It was Harper: JOB DONE. And a smiley face.

  The two men took off their headsets, picked up their jackets from the backs of their chairs, and Ellis thanked them by name as they left.

  ‘It would have been less stressful if you’d brought us in earlier,’ said Ellis.

  ‘But, still, all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘Charlie, if we’d missed one, it could have ended very differently.’

  ‘But it didn’t. You and the police saved the day. MI5 and the Metropolitan Police working hand in hand took out four suicide-bombers with no collateral damage. Applause all round.’

  ‘And the man who planned it? Can you let me into that little secret? I’m sure that’s what that message was, right?’

  Button took the back out of the phone, removed the Sim card, and broke it in half.

  Ellis smiled. ‘It would have been so much funnier if you’d swallowed it,’ she said.

  ‘The mastermind was a former SAS man, Caleb McGovan. He converted to Islam at some point and offered his services to ISIS. He appears to have sold them on the idea of a joint operation – the attack on Menwith Hill and the multiple suicide-bombers.’

  ‘And where is this Caleb McGovan now, pray tell?’

  ‘An industrial unit outside Gravesend.’

  ‘Dead or alive?’

  ‘He didn’t make it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything, Charlie?’

  ‘It was a very complicated situation. I had a lot of ducks to line up.’

  ‘You could have told me what was happening much earlier. This has all been very much on the fly, and that’s never the best way of working, as you know.’

  ‘Hand on heart, Patsy, I didn’t get the full picture until very recently.’

  Ellis sipped her tea. ‘And who killed Caleb McGovan?’

  ‘Probably best we put it down to friendly fire and leave it at that. There’ll be surveillance footage of McGovan setting up the suicide-bombers so I don’t think anyone will be shedding any tears for him. If the SAS or the police want to take the credit for it, I don’t think anyone will be complaining.’

  ‘And who was all this for, Charlie? Who were you working for?’

  ‘Does it matter? We took out an ISIS cell, thwarting what would have been a series of very damaging attacks. The security services and the police come out of it smelling like roses.’

  ‘When you put it like that, of course I sound like I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth. It would just be nice to know who’s been pulling your strings.’

  Button flashed Ellis a tight smile. ‘Client confidentiality, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of course. And, as you said, Charlie, all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘And the quid pro quo? Can you tell me now who’s been making my life a misery?’

  Ellis gr
inned. ‘Actually, I can,’ she said. ‘And after what’s happened today, the chance that you’ll ever have any problems with Five or Six in the future is slim to none.’

  CHAPTER 66

  Harper’s team split up and went their separate ways. There was no group hug, no drinks down at the pub, they just left. Their fees would be paid into their offshore bank accounts and they wouldn’t speak again until the next time they were needed. The only member of the team left in the ops room when Harper arrived was Hansfree, who was sipping a coffee, his feet on the table. He looked exhausted, which was hardly surprising since he’d functioned with almost no sleep over the past four days. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ said Hansfree.

  ‘It was a close-run thing,’ said Harper. ‘The guys you brought in did a bang-up job. Tell them I’ll put them through for a bonus. You, too. After what we did today, we should all get fucking knighthoods.’

  ‘I won’t be holding my breath on that score,’ said Hansfree. ‘The money’ll do just fine.’ He swung his legs off the table and reached for a black thumbdrive with his right claw. He held it out to Harper. ‘Everything you need is on there,’ he said. ‘IDs on the jihadists we identified, surveillance pictures of them all.’

  Harper took it and slipped it into his hip-pack. He planned to put the documents in the drafts folder for Button to use as she wanted. ‘There’s something else I need you to do for me before you pack up,’ he said. He unfolded a piece of paper and gave it to Hansfree. ‘Can you rig up something like that for me?’

  It took Hansfree only seconds to work out what it was. ‘A detonating circuit?’

  ‘Yeah, using a Sim card. It needs to be totally fail-safe.’

  Hansfree grinned. ‘My stuff always is, Lex. You know that.’

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  Hansfree held up the sheet of paper. ‘For this? On the house. Just make sure the rest of my fee goes into my bank account.’

  ‘It’s already there.’ Harper jerked a thumb at the stack of boxes and cases. ‘Do you need a hand with your gear?’

  ‘Reggie and a few of my guys are coming over, so I’m all sorted. How soon do you want this circuit?’

  ‘As soon as,’ said Harper. ‘I need to get back to Thailand.’

  ‘Couple of hours should do it.’ said Hansfree, reaching for a circuit board and a soldering iron.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Harper. ‘I’ve got something else to pick up, so I’ll catch you later.’

  He went downstairs, getting a friendly wave from Mr Singh as he headed out. He caught a black cab to Chinatown and wandered around the restaurants, appearing to look at roast ducks hanging from their necks in the windows but actually checking reflections for tails.

  The shop he was looking for was above a dim-sum restaurant. It had its own door on which there was a small brass sign with a dozen or so Chinese characters and below it, in English, DR LI, CHINESE MEDICINE AND ACUPUNCTURE. Harper pushed open the door and went up a narrow flight of stairs that turned to the right and led to a beaded curtain that he pushed through.

  Dr Li’s shop was lined with wooden cabinets containing glass-fronted drawers of dried herbs, plants and leaves. On one of the walls posters of the human body showed what looked like acupuncture or pressure points marked in Chinese characters, and four framed degree certificates, which Harper had never examined too closely. He didn’t care what, if any, professional qualifications Dr Li had. All he cared about was that he produced results. The man himself came out of a side room where he had an examination table, polishing his spectacles. He was short and plump with a totally bald head and pixie-like ears. He peered at Harper with screwed-up eyes, put his glasses on and smiled. ‘Mr Lex, long time no see. What can I do for you?’

  Dr Li had lived in London for the best part of forty years but he still spoke like an extra in a kung-fu movie.

  ‘Something a little special, Dr Li.’

  ‘Anything for you, Mr Lex, always a pleasure.’

  By the time Harper got back to the ops room, Hansfree had finished the circuit. It wasn’t much bigger than a mobile phone, with a slot for a Sim card and a socket for a nine-volt battery. There didn’t seem to be an on-off switch but there were two wires that could be connected when necessary to make the circuit live.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about a timer, right?’ said Hansfree.

  ‘Yeah, phone only, and it’ll be line of sight because I don’t want there to be any mistakes.’

  ‘That’ll fit the bill, then,’ said Hansfree. ‘You’ll need to put in a Sim card and a battery, then run the red wires to the detonator. The circuit is inert until you connect the black wires together. At that point a call to the Sim card activates the circuit and Bob’s your uncle.’

  Harper wanted to shake hands but he always felt awkward touching Hansfree’s prosthetic claw so he punched him gently on the shoulder. ‘You’re a star,’ he said.

  ‘A five-year-old could put that together,’ said Hansfree. ‘Next time give me something difficult.’ He saluted with his right claw. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Lex. As always. Keep me in mind for your next job.’

  ‘You’re always top of my list, you know that,’ said Harper. He headed downstairs, dropped off a wad of banknotes with Mr Singh by way of thanks, and caught a black cab to Bayswater. When he got back to his room, he transferred the contents of the bottle Dr Li had sold him to a small white plastic bottle that had once contained eye-drops, easily small enough to pass through airport security. The circuit board Hansfree had built went into a side pocket of his holdall, along with three of his mobile phones. He doubted that the circuit would show up as suspicious on any scan but even if they did examine it there was no battery in it and it didn’t contravene any airport security regulations. He was good to go.

  CHAPTER 67

  Harper was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, when there was a soft knock on his door. He reached for the gun under his pillow, then smiled to himself as he realised that, generally, killers didn’t knock. He swung his feet off the bed, opened the door and relaxed when he saw Charlotte Button. ‘I wanted to catch you before you went,’ she said. She was wearing a dark blue suit and carrying a Chanel bag with a gilt chain. She had tied her hair back and had on almost no makeup. She looked tired and Harper had a sudden urge to hug her, which he resisted because, at the end of the day, she was his boss and he was the hired hand.

  ‘I’m flying back this evening,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad you dropped by.’ He picked up the thumbdrive Hansfree had given him. ‘There are surveillance pictures of the bad guys. Might be helpful.’

  She took it from him and thanked him.

  ‘So are you back in HM Government’s good books?’ he asked. ‘You saved a lot of people today.’

  ‘You mean you did. You did a great job.’

  ‘It was a close-run thing,’ said Harper, sitting down on the bed and waving her to the one chair in the room, next to the plywood dressing-table. She looked at its dusty seat and grimaced, but sat down anyway. ‘But all’s good, yeah? Your client got what he wanted, and the authorities took out a jihadist cell. But I guess that’s not why you’re here, right?’

  She nodded and forced a smile. ‘I know who’s been giving me grief,’ she said. ‘His name’s Malik Sharif but he uses Malcolm. Malcolm Sharif. One of the richest Pakistanis living in the UK. He’s been on the Sunday Times Rich List since 2012. And, ironically, we helped him get there.’

  ‘We as in the government?’

  ‘The Pool, specifically. Sharif is very close to a member of the cabinet. That member of the cabinet pushed through Sharif’s citizenship papers. And it turns out that, as part of a quid pro quo, Sharif passed them some very damaging intel on another Pakistani businessman based in Birmingham. The intel showed that the businessman was a direct threat to our national security and it was decided to use the Pool to eliminate the threat without an embarrassing trial.’

  ‘Embarrassing why?’

  ‘Because the same
minister who got Sharif his papers also fast-tracked the businessman’s citizenship application. If that had become public knowledge, it could have brought the government down. Can you imagine what a field day the press would have had – “British Minister Gets Citizenship For Al-Qaeda Mastermind”? The Americans wouldn’t have been best pleased, either. So, as I said, the job was given to the Pool. All well and good, except it now turns out that the businessman was totally innocent. Sharif faked the intel. He wanted the businessman out of the picture so that he could take over his companies, and that was what happened. Shame on me for not checking more closely, but the order came from the top and I was told it had to be done.’

  ‘I hope it wasn’t one of my contracts.’

  Button shook her head. ‘It wasn’t.’ She looked around the room. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a minibar, is there?’

  ‘With a nice cold Pinot Grigio in it?’ He laughed. ‘Charlie, this place is sixty quid a night, cash, no questions asked. I don’t think they even change the sheets. So Sharif arranged for the safe-deposit boxes to be raided?’

  ‘I’m assuming so. That’s conjecture. But what isn’t conjecture is that he’s having me followed. He’s been doing it through an Israeli security company. Former Mossad. It’s all been one step removed but there’s no doubt it’s him. Somehow he’d got to hear about my insurance policies and was worried that if anything happened to me his dirty little secret would get out. He has a lot of enemies back in Pakistan so if he was stripped of his citizenship and sent packing, he’d lose everything. Including his life, probably. He obviously figured that he’d be safer if I wasn’t around. He paid the Israelis to track down my insurance policies, remove them and presumably me, too.’

  Harper nodded. ‘Now what? I’m assuming a stern talking-to isn’t going to get this sorted.’

  Button tried to smile but Harper could see how worried she was. ‘Can you do it for me, Alex? Can you cancel Malik Sharif before you go back to Thailand? For your usual rate, of course.’